


Servat Regina Colorem

by flammablehat



Series: Summerpornathon 2013 [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Chess Metaphors, Damsels in Distress, F/F, Kink Bingo 2013, Mildly Dubious Consent, Negotiations, One of My Favorites, Team Gluttony, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the King is in check, who better to rescue him than the Queen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Servat Regina Colorem

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the negotiation square on my kink bingo card. 
> 
> Title comes from the chess mnemonic "queen gets her color" or "queen on her own color." I have a lot of feels about this fic - it's one of my favorite pthon entries I've ever written. I may even meta it once all of pthon has concluded! 
> 
> Beta provided by Sophie, Itachi, and Samy, who are ALL the best. ~~and I am a jerk who forgets people~~

Nimueh sees them in her wide, shallow pool.

Merlin checks his champion’s straps and buckles, makes finicky adjustments at shoulder and waist. He’s anxious. Nimueh can see it in his face and is equal parts amused and bored. He knows better than to come for Arthur himself, and so he sends this small knight — another inevitable sacrifice for Camelot; another in a long line of short-lived entertainments for Nimueh.

At least this one looks interesting, all in dark armour.

X

His breathing is shallow, distressed. His fingers tremble over the gorget, which gleams black as pitch. He spent all night polishing it. What good a mirror shine will do is unclear, but if it soothed him it was worthwhile.

“Be careful,” he whispers, face turned away, like he fears someone is listening. “The White Witch is dangerous.”

When he has checked everything at least three times, he finally stills, unveiling a beautiful sword with a jet pommel. He offers it, hilt first.

X

Nimueh lounges some distance from the tower, sipping from a chalice of wine. There is a crunch of leaves, the careless, heavy steps of a trespasser. She sighs, scattering wildlife from the field of imminent battle with a shrug of her will. The crunching stops.

“I seek the White Witch!” calls a strong, clear voice. Nimueh stills, then begins to laugh, the sound echoing through the trees, a gleeful cacophony.

She reveals herself. Her gown is white and plain — she wouldn’t want to disappoint expectations, even those of such an unorthodox challenger.

“I am the one you seek, called Nimueh by the Isle,” she says. “Name yourself and your purpose here.”

The black knight lifts her helmet, shaking out a fall of brown hair.

“I am Sir Guinevere,” she says. “And I come to reclaim what is mine.”

X

Nimueh’s smirk is red. She circles Gwen, assessing.

“I would crush my ivory tower, and your king inside it, before I suffered Merlin in these lands,” she says. “And so he sends you to me in his stead. A maid. Has he run out of knights and resorted to pawns?”

Gwen says nothing, only watches Nimueh with caution.

“He’s taught you well,” Nimueh says. “Fine. Hear your challenge. You must best me in physical contest.”

Suspicious, Gwen asks, “That is all?”

“Pin me but once and Arthur is yours.” Nimueh holds out her hand.

Gwen hesitates only a moment before taking it.

X

“The deal is struck.” Nimueh grins. Her dress dissolves with Guinevere’s armour, leaving them both bare. Guinevere jerks, as if to recoil, and Nimueh digs in with her nails and holds her fast — tugs her close. She strokes one high cheekbone, a mocking caress.

Guinevere shoves forward, tumbling them into the loam. She is frantic, desperate, scrambling for purchase. It makes Nimueh laugh again, delighted. There is a brief moment where she can see victory cross Guinevere’s eyes, her knees having found their purchase on either side of Nimueh’s hips, her free arm braced against Nimueh’s ribs. It takes only the faintest current of magic across her belly to make her freeze.

“Ooh,” Nimueh tuts with false pity.

White light crackles over Guinevere’s breasts, sparking at her nipples. She cries out, arching sharply. As soon as the magic recedes she snarls, striking out like an angry cat. Nimueh hits her with another bolt of power before the blow can land, this time right in her cunt, a rhythmic pulse that makes her collapse, writhing.

“You didn’t believe it would be that easy, did you?” Nimueh says, smoothing the hair away from Guinevere’s open mouth. She thumbs her soft lips, rolling magic into her sex. It’s a matter of minutes before she’s gone pliant, wet, grasping for more.

“Shhh,” Nimueh hushes over Guinevere’s desperate noises, crawling between her legs. Magic swells between them, questing, following the guidance of Nimueh’s hips against Guinevere’s ready cunt. She’s so hot for touch she accepts Nimueh into her arms, whines at each ginger, teasing press of energy against her slit. Nimueh grins, showing her teeth. “Mewl for me, kitten,” she hisses, speaking close to Guinevere’s ear, savouring the wet spread around her shifting, firming cock.

The breath shocks out of her when Guinevere _rolls_ them, sheathing herself on Nimueh’s magic with a triumphant shout.

Nimueh stills when something sharp presses just beneath her jaw — a jagged stick Guinevere leans into her skin.

“Not a kitten,” she pants, smiling. “Nor a pawn. A _Queen_. And I take the tower.”


End file.
